


Third Date

by andthebluestblue, Shayvaalski



Series: Mark [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Hand Jobs, I want to touch his face with both my hands, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn, Smut, Trans, Trans Character, Transgender, Translock, check the triggers please, porn that advances but does not necessarily contain the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthebluestblue/pseuds/andthebluestblue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayvaalski/pseuds/Shayvaalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Hooper knows that second date means you’re easy, and fourth date means you’re a prude—but he’s unfortunately less educated on the niceties of sexual timing when you have a rather urgent physical condition that you haven’t quite managed to communicate to your partner. </p><p>(This verse features an FtM Molly, named Mark.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Date

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: this is mostly about sex between two men, one of whom is trans. If you are trans and going to be triggered by this, skip down to notes at the bottom and we will catch you up on any necessary plot points.

It’s the third date. Mark knows that second date means you’re easy, and fourth date means you’re a prude—but he’s unfortunately less educated on the niceties of sexual timing when you have a rather urgent physical condition that you haven’t quite managed to communicate to your partner. 

Though, speaking of urgent physical conditions—Jim makes a small, pleased noise, shifts closer on the couch so that he’s practically in Mark’s lap, shirtless and searingly warm. His mouth is soft and wet and a little too quick for Mark to keep up with, and Mark is in way over his head. Mark tries to remember everything he’s ever read about responsible disclosure, but Jim moves from his mouth to his neck and shifts and, yes, okay, that is definitely an erection pressing against Mark’s hip. Oh. Alright, this is fine, but—well.

But he doesn’t _have_ one which Jim is _bound_ to notice and he’s going to be offended and leave and Mark will never get to kiss his mouth again. This is _terrible_. But it’s also, it’s really nice, and it has been a _really_ long time, and in a way it’s the first, isn’t it? For Mark. And he wants something desperately, wants it even if the logistics are fuzzy and complicated and.

Logistics. He squirms away a little and ignores the forlorn sound Jim makes, clears his throat—but Jim speaks first. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” and his voice is concerned and soft but there’s an edge of darkness that makes Mark shiver.

“Nothing’s wrong, this is—lovely. It’s lovely.”

Jim hums a satisfied note and reaches for him again, eyes dropping to the flushed skin on Mark’s neck. 

“No, Jim, wait—” Jim does not look happy. Mark isn’t exactly thrilled at the interruption either, but. “This is—okay, this is something you _really_ need to know.”

Jim looks unfocused, still watching Mark’s throat. _Bruising?_ Mark brushes his fingers over the spot and, yes, it’s the kind of warm that means a bite mark is forming. _Focus._

“Hm. Later. Move your—yes, just like that,” Jim murmurs, and Mark suddenly has a lap full of, oh dear, skin and heat and Jim is pressing into his stomach and unbuttoning his shirt and this is a Red Flag, Mark has not Expressed Consent and he should be reading Jim the riot act about Agreement and Respect and _he should not have let his mind wander_ because Jim’s hands are at his fly and—he has to swallow the urge to yelp “If you freak out this is not my fault, you didn’t _ask_ if you could” because who does that? do men do that? _Focus_ , Mark! 

“No, now, because, um, because of where your hand is.” Where Jim’s hand—yes, where his hand is in fact going and Mark has to fight down the urge to flinch backwards because that will call attention to exactly what isn’t there, and there is still the chance Jim won’t notice.

“I know where my hand is, Mark.” Technically true. But Jim also does not know what that hand is going to end up touching, and this is going to end so, so badly. Mark is going to be one of those people you read about—he is having a hard time being reasonable about that because apparently it’s _true,_ about all the blood leaving his head. This is such a bad situation, and there is no time left and oh, dear, he is _so_ _fucked_. Well. Not fucked. 

“No,” he blurts, “Jim, I— _oh.”_

“I told you, Mark. I know perfectly well where my hand is.” 

This is. Well, this is, oh, this is nice, but also terribly confusing, and Mark cannot focus on both of these things at once, and Jim is being completely unreasonable. He clutches Jim’s wrist—not pulling it out of his pants (which is probably the smart thing, the _right_ thing to do, but Mark is only so good a man) but stilling it, allowing him to think a little.

“You never said anything. I thought you didn’t. Um. Know.”

“I am a genius, Mark. I think I’m a little insulted.” Jim wiggles his fingers impatiently, and Mark bites his tongue, _glares_. Not the time.

“Well, you might have mentioned!”

“It seemed awfully irrelevant.” 

“I—you’re not upset?” Jim is the strangest man that Mark has ever met. And Mark knows Sherlock Holmes. Mark knows _Mycroft Holmes._

“I will be if we _stop_.” Which sounds awfully like Sexual Blackmail, but. Tomorrow, they are going to have a long talk about Consent. Tomorrow. 

“I mean, you’re gay. And I don’t have—I’m still looking into surgery, I didn’t want—” Jim makes a noise that seems to indicate he’s done with this conversation, pushes his chest forward against Mark, nips his ear and whispers, “Let me touch it, Mark. Your cock. _Please._ ”

The sound Mark makes is not quite a gasp but it’s breathy, a little too high—later. They’ve talked. Right? They haven’t resolved anything but Progress has been made, and Mark feels he is justified in letting it go. In leaning forward and pressing his teeth into Jim’s neck, and _yes_ , this is a good decision, Jim tastes like sweat and metal and is still drawling into his ear. “Baby, you’re _hard_ , come on—”

Mark moans, bucks up a little, tries to push his—his cock harder against Jim’s fingers (which are much too gentle on him) and Jim laughs low and pleased. “Hel- _lo_ , darling, you like that? My hand on your cock? And Mark baby, speaking of—you’re not the _only_ one who is, shall we say, gagging for it—”

Mark fumbles with Jim’s trouser button, blind, fingers that can slice up a corpse gone clumsy and shaking. It finally slides opens and Jim croons encouragement, fingers pressing harder against Mark as Mark palms him through the (obscenely expensive and appallingly green) pants he has on. Jim shifts his hips, pushing up, and his breath hitches in Mark’s ear. “ _Jesus_ , Mark, fuck, yes, you are—oh, you are _good_ at that—”

Mark hopes he isn’t expected to reciprocate in kind—even if he knew what to say, he’s not sure he could form any consonants (though his vocal cords, he is distantly aware, seem to be forming vowels quite well on their own, independent of his brain).

“Okay, now put your hand under—oh, good _boy,_ Mark. Yes. Keep doing that.”

Mark runs his fingers over the shaft, up and down, following Jim’s rhythm on his own cock, quick, just a shade past tortuously light. Jim makes a breathy little moan in his ear, whispers, “Harder, Mark. Yes. Flick your fingers over—lightly! Good. Oh god, again, _please_ —”

Mark doesn’t recall his past partners being this loud. Or this chatty. But he’s drowning, a bit, caught between _wonderful_ and _too much_ , and it’s a relief to actually know what to do, this once. Just once; next time he’ll manage on his own, he swears.

“Go back to—yeah, go back to jerking me off, good, harder, _harder_ ,” and Jim’s own fingers are getting erratic, his breathing louder, cock twitching in Mark’s hand. He kisses Mark, breath hot and urgent, and Mark can feel Jim still mumbling directions against his teeth. Jim whines, high, in the back of his throat, hips jerking against Mark, and guides Mark’s free hand (clenched in the couch cushion) up over his stomach, his chest. Mark runs his fingernails gently over one of Jim’s nipples and Jim hisses _Harder_ so Mark grabs it, twists—his fingers stop moving against Mark and Jim makes a startled noise, convulses, curling forward around Mark’s hands on him and biting hard into Mark’s shoulder. 

Jim slumps forward, relaxing against Mark’s chest (don’t _think_ about it, Mark), his forehead resting on Mark’s shoulder. He shifts slightly when Mark withdraws his hand, but doesn’t open his eyes, and Mark wipes it on a throw—which, oh, dear, he’ll definitely have to wash now. Jim is still for long enough that Mark is beginning to get worried, and he has just started to shift a little when he feels Jim lick a slow line up his neck. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, baby, don’t think I don’t want to feel you underneath me, I’m only _human,_ Mark...”

Jim twists his fingers, and Mark jerks, startled. Jim sets a much faster pace now, firmer against him, and Mark can feel sweat pooling at the small of his back. He arches forward and Jim slips an arm between him and the couch, holding him close, voice a little rougher as he murmurs, “You are—baby, you are fucking gorgeous like this, look at you, _listen_ to you, I want my _mouth_ on you.” Part of Mark wants to tell Jim that he can stop, that he doesn’t usually come with a partner, not the first time, because he knows that Jim’s hand is at a bad angle and must be getting tired—but most of Mark just wants Jim to keep going because, oh, Jim is _very_ good and Mark is selfish.

But of course Jim stops, pulls his hand away and leans back a little in Mark’s lap. Mark opens his mouth to reassure Jim that, yes, stopping is fine, he’s not offended, it’s okay—before he can, Jim lays his fingers across Mark’s lips and purrs, “ _Hush._ I’m just stretching.”

Jim’s fingers are as warm as his mouth, slightly damp, and Mark can smell himself, which is either upsetting and... and _disorienting_ or really hot, but before he can make up his mind Jim takes his fingers away, flexing his hand in a circle. Automatically, Mark licks his lips, ignores the slight taste—but Jim’s eyes go dark and heavy. Jim licks his own fingers, then, tongue shocking-pink and quick, and Mark’s breath catches. Oh, _dear_. Definitely coming down on the side of _hot_. 

Jim’s fingers are slick, now, and it is an embarrassingly short amount of time before Mark is moving against him, hands clutching at Jim’s hips, making small noises that he does not have a name for. Jim pulls his hand out from behind Mark and places it on his neck, fingers pushing gently, not a threat or a warning, just a—remark. Awareness. Mark pushes forward, eyes stinging, trying to remember to breathe, straining, and yes, right there like that and— _there_. Jim is still talking and for a long moment Mark can hear but not understand any of it, until he comes back to himself, still panting, sweat not yet starting to dry. Jim makes a smug noise and kisses the side of his face, mouth landing on an awkward intersection of cheek and ear. 

“That was _gorgeous_ , baby. Thank you.”

Mark makes a noise that he hopes can be taken for agreement, stroking slowly over Jim’s back, hazy and feeling generally benevolent to the world. Jim’s skin is nice. Soft. So is the couch. Mark likes this couch. And the rug. And the ceiling, which he has a lovely view of. He doesn’t realize he’s talking aloud until he hears Jim laugh, fond and breathy, in his ear. Well, good. That means he’s regained the power of speech. 

Jim leaves much later that night, after a text comes in that makes his face go blank for a long moment. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Duty calls,” he says, and Mark wonders, yet again, when exactly he should tell Jim that he knows Jim isn’t in IT.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is a piece of writing about one specific character (Mark Hooper) and should not be taken as any sort of informative pamphlet about trans men, all of whom feel differently about their bodies, especially in sexual situations (almost like they are all entirely different people). 
> 
> **Plot points established, for those who skipped the smut** : Jim already knows Mark is trans, and is remarkably blasé about it. Jim is a Bad Consent Bear, and Mark feels he must be educated. Mark knows that Jim does not work in IT.


End file.
